Moments in Between
by Lyaksandra
Summary: Snippets of events taking place somewhere within the time-frame of my other story, Never Too Late, as experienced by Victoria Chase. Most likely cannot stand on its own.


**FEELINGS**

It starts innocuous enough. You come into this room out of a sense of obligation. You feel guilty. After all, it was your best friend who killed her friend. Also, it was ultimately you who ruined Kate Marsh's reputation and pushed her to leave Blackwell Academy. And last, but certainly not least, at this point in your life, you just want to be a better person.

So many bad choices made, such blindness on your part. You didn't even see what was right in front of you, and just like that, Nathan slipped through your fingers like so much sand. He was manipulated and broken beyond repair by a man you idolized. To think that at some point you had even wanted the piece of shit to touch you. The very thought makes your skin crawl and sends a shiver up your spine.

Each day you lie in bed with Max, you relax a bit more. A name that is almost strange to you flowing from her lips like it's a prayer helps, of course. At first, you were stiff like a board, merely clinging to her to fulfill your quota of good deeds, wondering if being aware of the fact made it less valid. It was all so stilted. Then, at some point, you allowed your hand to drop to her waist.

There is a softness to her, despite her waifish figure. Guys don't feel like this, not even the ones that don't exercise. It's nuanced, but there is a difference. It's like Max wants you to meld into her, while guys, well, you're the one providing them this very thing.

She is cuddly, and huggable, like a teddy bear. No wonder guys want to paw at you all the time.

One day, you grow bolder. You're fairly certain that Max wouldn't refuse you, but still. With a gulp, you furtively slide your hand along the curve of her waist and let it climb to the apex of her hip. The texture is delicious. You squeeze a little. A spike of sensation shoots through you, and it is in that moment that you know something has shifted inside yourself. Suddenly, you are too aware of how her hair smells and of how her lips turn your middle name into an airy whisper that does things to your guts.

That night, as soon as Max falls asleep, you slip silently from her embrace and escape to your room for a change of panties. As you clean yourself with the already soiled garment, you feel warmth raise to your face. You've never felt this way before, but it's easy enough to see why, even in these circumstances. You've never been touchy feely with anyone except guys, and that was only for sex. The fact that you can easily place the blame for that directly on your parents' absence is clichéd, but that doesn't make it any less true.

 **CAR**

Max is staring ahead with a shark's grin that took you months of practice in front of a mirror to master. You don't know whether to feel relieved that she's finally lightening up enough to have fun, or feel like you're staring death in the eye.

"This is so exciting," she exclaims, high pitched and happy.

You settle for feeling glad that she's somewhat back to normal. Of course, she doesn't need to be made aware of that fact. Or that she's making you grow softer with each passing day you spend at her side. Soon enough, everyone will be stepping on you like you are Kate Marsh.

The thoughtless remark causes you to mentally flinch at your own assholery, and you actually hiss a little before talking.

"Yeah, yeah, tone it down before you paint us all over a wall." Max seems none the wiser since you inject your words with that special Victoria Chase brand of subtly insulting nonchalance. Good.

"Yes, mom," she replies in mock exasperation, rolling her eyes at you. "What do I do?"

Out of reflex, but more the endearing kind than the mean one, you too roll her eyes at her. She can be such a child sometimes.

"Have you ever driven a flappy paddle gearbox?"

The look of deer in headlights she gives you is enough of an answer.

"Automatic it is, then," you add without missing a beat. "Press that button there."

She does so, and then turns around slightly to place her hand on your forearm. It's warm and just a bit sweaty. Unexpectedly, you don't mind it at all.

"Oh, can we open the roof? It's such a nice day."

"Of course," you instantly reply, and then you silently backtrack, making every effort not to match her smile. That just wouldn't do. You're supposed to be calm and collected at all times. The perfect little girl.

"It's that button over there," you helpfully point out after seeing her look lost while poking around the console for a few seconds. A lull in the conversation you also use to think some choice words about your parents.

The roof folds in itself with a barely audible mechanical buzz and hides behind the seats. All set, now you're ready to go.

Max yelps when the car surges forward because she pushed the pedal a bit too much too suddenly. Okay, maybe not so ready after all.

"Careful, it's sensitive," you say, surprisingly not angry or patronizing. She really is making you soft.

A little snort escapes her, and the smile on her lips gives you the ominous feeling that she's having a laugh at your expense. Whatever about, who knows? Hipster minds are inscrutable to you. The fact gets archived in your head for later, it may come in handy in case you need to reproach her something.

After a few minutes, she gets the hang of it, and you're cruising along the highway. The wind races past, whipping your hair and hers in every direction. When you look at Max, she seems relaxed, and most importantly, free. Released, if only momentarily, of all the weight her small, fragile-looking shoulders have been carrying. A weight that you can't help thinking is much heavier than she lets on.

No one has ever driven your car before. Not even Nathan. For some reason you can only grasp at the edges of right now, that doe-eyed look she gives you when she wants something disarms you completely. It's stupid. Still, you can never resist it.

Max Caulfield is making you soft, and you can't find it in yourself to hate it.

 **CLOTHES**

You open the closet and regard your clothes. A frustrated huff rises up your throat. This is not satisfactory. Not even all the money and influence of the Chases was enough to convince the Blackwell board of letting you tear down the wall so you could use the adjacent room too. It's a better use of the space, if anyone asks you. With sharp, angry movements, you start sliding hangers to one side.

Once done picking, you regard the outfit you managed to assemble despite this meager, ridiculous, tiny closet. Admittedly, it's the tests of life such as this that strengthen your position as the fashion genius you are. You smile to yourself, satisfied.

Button-up blouse, because you want to give Max a glimpse of the valley between your breasts. Regular bra, not pushup, for that same reason. You want the space to look open and evocative of the mysteries that may lie beyond. She needs to be curious, to imagine, so she can crave more.

Pencil mini skirt to accentuate the flare of your hips, and show some leg, plus tights, not pantyhose. The latter are too translucent. You want the ability to spread your legs a little now and then, just so you can catch Max by surprise and watch her lose track midsentence while she does her damnedest to look anywhere except your lower body.

Panties, whatever, you're going to need a change in the middle of the night anyway.

Jewelry, the bangle is a must. Not that you go without it that often, but you've learned to love how Max pokes around it in pursuit of your wrist. Watch, for timekeeping, duh.

Lastly, some nice high heels. You want to look down at her from above. Not because you want to demean her, although that may still be the case in some corner of your mind, but because you want to get the most out of her adorable appearance. A noticeable height difference emphasizes her petite figure from your perspective, and she looks just so cute. You can't help biting your lower lip at the thought. So adorable. Even if she also has an ass that just won't quit.

Doubt hits you unbidden along with the feverish fantasizing about Max's body. How come you want her so much and so far she has been able to resist you like it's nothing? Doesn't she like you, too? Aren't you enough to fill her eye? Despite all that shit she mumbled about your middle name, she has yet to make a single move on you. And here you are, going all out. The feeling of inadequacy hurts you in a place so deep, that you thought it had been buried for good. You were barely a child back then.

The thought swirls in your mind for a minute, and then, you feel the sting of tears in your eyes. That's when you take a galvanizing deep breath. Well, she's the one missing out on all this. Fuck Max Caulfield and her shitty hipster tastes. You're Victoria Chase, goddammit.

You're still going to wear the clothes because you want her to feel bad about not having the best there is. That's all.

 **LIST**

"What are you doing?" Max asks, craning her neck to peek at your smartphone's screen. These fucking beds are too small.

"Texting," you say, sharper than intended. You turn around a little, concealing the screen with your body.

"Who?"

"None of your damn business!" You roll away from her, instantly regretting your tone. She's so damn nosy, though, and you absolutely can't let her see this.

She blows a raspberry at you and lies back against the wall, looking to the world like she doesn't care about you snapping at her. Does she really not care anymore? That makes you feel a little spark of joy. You shouldn't behave like this toward others, you know that, but Max accepting you as you are feels… well, nice.

Despite your apprehensions about being caught by another student, you two are spending this evening in your room. The risk is worth it if only because you want her in here, sharing this space of yours. Even though Taylor, Courtney and Nathan come and go as they please, with Max this feels intimate. And if you were to admit it to yourself, it's also a little arousing. It doesn't take you long to roll back toward her so you can bask in her warmth. You're glad the beds are small.

Max looks down from her book and smiles at you. It's that knowing smile she directs only at you. You've stopped caring that she sometimes acts so full of herself, like you're so easy to read. This smile is only for you, and what does it matter where it comes from if it's not derisive or judgmental, but instead earnest and caring? No point in overthinking something good.

Her hand falls to your head, fingers running softly along your hair. You can't stop yourself from taking a deep breath and releasing a contented sigh.

You unlock the screen, relaunch OneNote, and proceed to review the list you've been working on.

 _Analog Nikon_. Because Max needs interchangeable lenses for the new assignments but she's too hipster to use digital. Also, her parents have, frankly, taken ages to send her the money to get whatever. Actually, like two days, but your baby shouldn't be without a camera in her hands. A little giggle escapes you at the pet name. If Max notices, she says nothing. Good. It would be hard to explain.

 _That sundress you two saw at the mall the other day_. Max and skirts. Anyone you ask in the entire history of humanity would tell you that these two concepts are as far apart from each other as the very edges of the universe. She stared longingly at this one, though. For whatever reason. It doesn't matter, you're going to get it for her because otherwise she never will. Denial would be her first answer, and if you somehow managed to get past that, she would cite cost. Luckily, the price tag is pocket change to you. There's one more reason to get her into that dress, of course. The very secret, personal one. That you melt a little imagining her in it.

You shift uncomfortably on the bed as you tighten your thighs, trying to stem the sensations. Again, if Max notices, she says nothing. The ministrations of her hand on your head continue undisturbed.

 _Several rolls of polaroid instant film_. Max has been taking less and less spontaneous pictures, lamenting her nearly expiring stock and the high cost of the damn things. This is an affront to humanity. Especially now that she was starting to capture your portrait more often. You love being the center of her attention. And again, this is pocket change to you.

So far, that's all you have. You will order the camera and the film off the internet later today, after Max leaves. As for the dress, tomorrow you're going to pick it up personally. There are one or two classes you don't share with her, those are safe to skip.

When you look up, you find her smiling that knowing smile, but she's not looking at you, her eyes are very focused on the book she's reading. It's a bit too purposeful for your liking. Did she steal a glance at your phone? That can't be, you would have felt her shift. She does look kind of guilty, though. She's not even blinking!

What the fuck, when did she…?

Suddenly, her hand moves down past your hair and caresses the side of your neck. All your thoughts evaporate.

 **WORTH**

When you see Max in the reception of the gallery, sporting a ponytail, your insides knot up. She looks ravishing. Without bangs, her face is awash with light, her blue eyes sparkling, unobstructed by the shadows usually cast by her hair. There seem to be just the right amount of stray locks escaping the tie to adorn her with a disheveled sensuality without looking slovenly. You try to breathe, but it doesn't come as easily as it should.

Then, hits the wave of insecurity. Does she still feel anything for you? Will she want you back? Has she met someone already? You feel like hunching your shoulders and crouching down to cry. But you don't.

Fake it till you make it, says the advice. You know this stuff like the palm of your hand. Or Max's hand. Hell, it's practically your life's motto. Instead of shrinking, you go full peacock. Shoulders back, spine straight, legs firmly planted on the ground, arms relaxed at your sides. You stand taller than you ever have, because you're going to need it to face this situation. To face her. This is your reckoning, and you have only one shot at this in life.

You strut toward her, absolutely confident that you own the place. All the fears, insecurities and doubts get pushed down. This is what you want. She's what you want. And Victoria Chase always gets what she wants, consequences be damned.

Max melts deliciously into your body when you pull her close to deepen the more chaste kiss you opened with. You two fit together perfectly. This is it. It's done. Happily ever after. Right?

So, what's that nagging voice coming from a dark corner of your mind? Useless, it says. It's your mom. It's your dad. It's both of them, fused into one shapeless shadow, there to remind you of your position in life for the rest of your days.

When Max pulls you to her, your focus gets yanked forcefully and shifted toward her. You can't resist the power this tiny girl has over you. Nor do you want to. It dawns on you then. Now it truly is over. The assertive, scorching response Max is giving to your kiss is telling you that this is mutual. She wants you as badly as you want her. She loves you as much as you love her. You are hers, she is yours. This is okay. You are okay.

The shadow is silent.

You deserve this.

You are worthy.

 **FIN**

 **Author's Notes**

Only the first and last shorts have a defined place within the larger story. I believe the rest can happen practically at any time. Don't look too deeply into the timeline. These little ideas wouldn't leave me be, so I just wrote them down on a whim. Hopefully, they complement the main story nicely.


End file.
